War Games
by corneroffandom
Summary: Velveteen Dream's title opportunity is at risk after he faces off against Lars.
1. Chapter 1

Aleister Black is backstage during Lars Sullivan vs Velveteen Dream. He's not paying it full attention, still dwelling over what nonsense Johnny Gargano had spewed earlier in the evening. Aleister's fingers curl into fists, then relaxes, and he stops short, seeing Tommaso Ciampa appear on the ramp. Dream course corrects and dives- taking Tommaso out, but the distraction is enough, Lars gets ahold of him, plants him brutally and pins him, referees spilling out to get things back under control as Ciampa goes after Dream, just for it to get reversed into his getting spiked on his own title belt, the referees struggling to get Dream out of the ring and trying to help Ciampa, but Dream never listens to anyone so he runs back down to the ring, dashes up the turnbuckle and dives- hitting an elbow that knocks the rest of the wind out of Ciampa, leaving him down and struggling while Dream swallows down air and clings to the title belt, the crowd reacting positively to the possibility of Velveteen Dream as NXT Champion post-Takeover.

Aleister yearns for the belt even stronger since his injury, but he would be lying if he didn't say Velveteen Dream looks good with the belt in hand. He heads for the gorilla position to say as much, keeping to the shadows and watching as Dream stumbles backstage. He doesn't sense Aleister, nor does he look over when Aleister shows himself. Aleister's expression twists in confusion as Dream continues to walk down the hall, wavering slightly. "Hey-" He steps forward, wrapping his fingers around Dream's wrist to stop him. "Dream?" He's trembling, and it's then that Aleister realizes something is wrong- just in time as Dream's knees buckle and he drops hard, Aleister rushing forward and catching him under the arms, staring into his face in dismay. He swallows hard and sinks to the floor, easing him down. "Shit," he mumbles, shifting Dream so he can get a better look at him. "Hey-"

No response and he moves, about to lay him down and go get help... when Dream shifts and weakly grips his wrist, eyes only open a slit. "N- no," he forces out through gritted teeth. "Don't... don't... tell anyone. They'll take War Games from me, it can't- no-"

"You're hurt," Aleister tells him and Dream moans. "I need to get someone-"

"NO!" Dream snaps at him, immediately curling in on himself as the pain throbs throughout his body. "Ah God. You can't- look what happened to you when they found you in that parking lot, you could've... you could've healed yourself but they didn't know, they forced you into surgery while you were still out of it, and-"

Aleister grimaces. "What if it's serious, Dream? Something beyond both of us?"

"It- it's not, I know myself well enough to tell. It just... I need... time," he forces out. " _Please_. If I'm wrong and I'm not better in a few days, you can do whatever you want, but please." He grabs Aleister's arm, eyes wide and desperate. "It's my first title opportunity, I'm not- I can't-"

Aleister works his teeth over his lip ring, never used to seeing Dream desperate and all but begging like this. "Fine, you get two days," he tells him. "And you're staying with me so I can keep an eye on you."

"Fine," he groans, biting back a cry of pain as Aleister helps him to his feet and guides him through the halls to the car, his nails digging into Aleister's shoulder as every step brings him new, fresh agony. "I... I don't know how you did it," he breathes out once he's settled in the back seat of Aleister's car.

"Did what?" Aleister wonders, leaning over him, shifting a blanket over his shivering form. They hadn't even stopped long enough to get Dream a change of clothes, Aleister only pausing to hook their bags over his free arm before continuing to support the injured man out of the arena.

"Survived against Lars. I mean, I know he brutalized you pretty badly the week before your match, but you managed to walk out in one piece, you even broke the man's _jaw_. That's impressive."

"You didn't do so badly tonight yourself," Aleister informs him, stroking his forehead and smiling briefly as Dream presses into his warmth with a soft sound deep in his throat. "You _would_ have won against Lars, and you _did_ fight off Ciampa and even gave the crowd a hell of a final image for the night, you over his prone body with the belt, so that's not a bad evening truly."

"I've had worse," Dream admits, eyes slipping closed.

"Haven't we all," Aleister murmurs. "Rest. Depending on traffic, we'll be at my place in about half an hour."

"You won't absolutely hate me, will you?" Dream slurs out, exhausted and in pain and still fighting his body's desperate need for rest to get answers from Aleister.

Aleister pauses, his brow furrowing. "What makes you think I would?"

"If I win the belt. You never really had a proper rematch for it," he mumbles. "It's not entirely fair..."

"What's not fair is people like Gargano thinking they can blindside someone in a parking lot and be rewarded for it," Aleister sighs, brushing his knuckles down Dream's jaw. "I will handle him, you will defeat Ciampa and then we'll settle this between us once and for all."

Dream stares at him, sleepily considering his words. "I like the sounds of that," he mumbles. "I always wanted a proper one-on-one rematch."

"I know you did," Aleister hums. "Now sleep." He watches until Dream dozes off, and then gets into the driver's seat, releasing a deep breath.

The drive to his apartment is quiet, tense. Aleister checks on Dream at every stop, almost dreading have to get out and transport him. Thankfully, he stirs when Aleister opens the door and reaches in for him, struggling to help through each stab of pain, the two of them finally succeeding at getting him out, feet resting on the pavement. "Ok?" Aleister asks, resting a hand on Dream's shoulder as he struggles to catch his breath.

"Yes." He grips Aleister's arms, gingerly getting his feet under him and together they limp through the waiting door, Aleister kicking it shut behind them before guiding Dream into his bedroom and settling him on the side of his bed.

Dream blinks, looking around at the scattered candles and books covering each surface around the bed. "About what I expected, yeah," he murmurs, lips twitching as Aleister runs his fingers through his hair. He shudders and groans and Aleister immediately moves for their bags, digging through first Dream's, and then his own when he finds nothing in there satisfactory.

"Do you not carry anything _warm_ and comfortable?" he wonders, glancing over his shoulder at Dream, who lifts a shoulder in response.

"No," Dream deadpans, Aleister staring at him incredulously. "Do you think I look this good by worrying about _comfort?_ "

Aleister rolls his eyes, huffing a bit as he digs around in his bag. "Then you'll have to wear this," he says, walking up to Dream and pulling a shirt briskly over his head, kneeling to pull his wrestling boots off. "Relax." He helps Dream back to his feet and between the two of them, they get his pants off and into some Tapout pants that Aleister has in his bag. "There. Warm, comfortable. I hope you're not allergic to that." He eases Dream back onto the bed and watches as he sits with his head lowered, tense from the pain. "Lay back. It'll be alright."

"I can't take your bed," he mumbles. "Where will you sleep?"

"I don't sleep much," Aleister says honestly. "And if I need to, there's room for both of us."

Dream looks up at him incredulously and then lets out a low moan of pain as Aleister grips his legs and helps them up onto the mattress, watching with some satisfaction as Dream groans, curling up under the sheets. "I'll be alright," he mumbles.

"You'd better be," Aleister responds before moving aside to meditate, keep an eye on Dream as he shudders and fights through the pain. His aura keeps fluctuating and Aleister can tell he's struggling to heal himself that way, though he's in too much pain to properly focus. When Dream eventually falls asleep, it's almost a relief even though Aleister can feel undercurrents of pain still coming from him. He's not entirely sure what Lars did to him, though it's clear that it's not good, and he seriously considers going back and breaking the man's jaw all over again, but he resists, remaining near Dream's side.

The next day is worse, Dream breathing raggedly into the pillows and digging his heels into the sheets as the pain intensifies. Aleister stands up and watches him, eyes dark with worry. "This isn't working, Dream."

"It will, I just need- I need time," Dream bites out, tearing at the sheets with trembling hands. "I can feel it, it's right there-"

Aleister can feel it too, the ebb and flow of Dream's aura trying to calm his spasming muscles, ease the pain from tendons and ligaments. "Patrick-"

"Don't Patrick me!" he snaps, his eyes almost feverish with frustration. "I... I'm not giving up on this... If I do, I might never get another chance..."

"I understand," Aleister tells him quietly. "More than you probably realize, but it... it's not worth it if you die, Dream. Or your career suffers because of it. You have so much promise."

"I can't listen to this right now," he spits out, still tense and writhing against fresh waves of pain. "You're not helping me at all here with this... this nonsense."

His voice cracks off of a new wave of torture and Aleister moves closer, Dream's words motivating him to finally take action on something he'd been fighting not to do since first laying Dream down on his bed. "Then I will," he says grimly, hoisting Dream up just long enough to ease in behind him, bracing him against his chest. "Let me help you."

Dream looks up at him incredulously, breathing through his nose, and slowly gives in to Aleister's offer, a quiet kind of acceptance easing the exhaustion on his face as their fingers interlace over his chest and Aleister closes his eyes, their auras linking together, cycling through and searching out the worst of the injuries, mending the deep bruising, and still clotting cuts of various depths along his body, easing the pain that's been plaguing Dream since the night before.

It's intensive, a very delicate process, and Aleister is startled when he finally pulls away to find that it's nearly midnight. He swallows and walks away on shaky legs, getting some water from the kitchen and drinking the entire bottle in one go. When he returns, Dream is asleep, his color slowly stabilizing. His breathing is steady and, when Aleister's fingers stop shaking enough for him to check, his heart rate is normal, relaxed. He exhales in relief and ghosts fingers over Dream's forehead, feeling no fever or anything to be suspicious or worried about. "Good," he murmurs, sinking down onto the bed next to him. "Good," he repeats, closing his eyes.

He sleeps better this night than he has in quite awhile.

Although Dream is physically healed, Aleister isn't terribly surprised to find him still asleep when he wakes up mid-afternoon, there no hint that he'll be waking soon. "It's ok," he says, voice thick with sleep. "You deserve this rest." Whereas Aleister's own lack of rest stems from insomnia and anxiety, Dream purposely goes without to train, studying tape, and basically just surviving off of the business that they both love so much. He wanders from bathroom to kitchen to living room, content to sit down after a quick shower and some orange juice to just think. About War Games, about Gargano. About Dream and Ciampa.

He sighs, yearning for it to come along already, for him to receive justice, for Dream to perhaps finally achieve the experience he's been so hungry for since they first met a year ago. Curls his hands into fists and listens to the silence of his apartment. It's fitting, he thinks, that even though their paths have continued on separately, they're still influencial parts of each other's lives, their careers. Everything.

When it's all said and done, Dream sleeps about 36 hours straight and Aleister is once more laying next to him when he feels a soft touch against his face, a bold kiss pressed to his mouth. "Thank you for helping me," Dream's voice breaks into his subconscious and by the time Aleister claws up to awareness, the door is clicking shut, his clothes folded carefully and laying on the bed next to him. Dream's bag is gone.

He blinks a few times, then touches his lips, not terribly surprised by it all. "You're welcome," he says to thin air before rolling over and drifting back off, lulled by the warmth of Dream's body still in his sheets.

-x

Takeover: War Games is bustling. Loud. Aleister hasn't seen Dream by the time his match comes along, but again, he's not surprised by this. They have different spots in arenas where they go to prepare, very different ways of getting into the proper mindset. So when he finally lays eyes on him while walking backstage after his match against Gargano, he stops short and stares at him. Garish outfit, ridiculous hair, everything edged just so to match well with the NXT title. Just in case. The crowd will love it, he knows already. "You look ready," is all he says and Dream smirks.

"The Dream is always ready." He steps up closer to Aleister and eyes him. "How do you feel?"

Aleister thinks about it. The match he's just had. What's to come. He exhales and it feels like six months' worth of tension leaves him at once. "Pleased."

"Then I am pleased for you." They're distracted by a tech motioning to Dream, informing him that he's out next, and Dream bows his head. "You've done your part for our future rematch, now it's up to me."

For a wild, fleeting moment, Aleister sees the mask of nonstop confidence fail, as uncertainty crosses the young man's face, and his eyes soften. Recalling the days spent at his apartment, watching Dream overcome near unimaginable suffering and pain to be here, to face off against Ciampa in what will probably be the most important fight of his career, he leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Dream's lips, mirroring what he only vaguely remembers from the week prior. "Go give him an experience he'll have nightmares about."

Dream stands there, frozen, eyes wide, as he stares at Aleister, warm and pleasantly surprised. He blinks, everything starting to click back into place for him once more, and he nods, turning on his heel and heading for the ring.

Aleister turns to watch, his gaze fixed unflinchingly on the monitor as the match begins, his lips twitching upwards while Dream stares Ciampa down. He has no doubt that both of them will get what they want out of this night.


	2. Chapter 2

Aleister _feels_ it before he hears it- distress, anger, disappointment so sharp that he thinks even someone without aura control could sense it. Cathy Kelley had been lurking around, Aleister doing his best to avoid her between getting his things and changing into street clothes, and it seems she'd found Velveteen Dream, trying to get his thoughts after his loss to Tommaso Ciampa. The man sounds like he's spiraling, and Aleister walks a little faster, just to find Cathy sitting on a trunk, staring at the doors with a troubled, guilty look on her face. As soon as she sees him, however, her professional mask slips back on and she approaches him. "Aleister-"

"Where did Dream go?" he asks her, ignoring the microphone, the camera crew, all of it. Let them use this, he doesn't really care either way.

Her shoulders slump, however, and she motions to the crew, lowering her microphone, and he knows she's figured him- them- out. "He went out that door," she says, pointing to the exit she'd just been staring at. Aleister nods, walking in that direction, and she clears her throat. "Aleister... take good care of him. It felt like... something's really wrong."

 _So she_ could _sense it too, but still pushed him to this level._ Brushing aside his frustration at the woman, Aleister nods, staring at her with his intense pale eyes, before pushing his way outside and following the faint, purple haze through the parking lot until he finds Dream's car. It's empty, dark inside, but Aleister can sense him still, so he circles the car until he finds Dream slumped down against the front tire, feet pressing against the stone barrier he'd parked next to. He takes in a deep breath and kneels down next to him, touching his jaw, guiding him over to look him in the eye.

Dream looks shattered, his hands trembling, eyes red-rimmed like he's been crying or fighting the urge for the better part of the hour. Aleister sighs and pulls him close, tucking him in against his shoulder for a long, quiet moment. "You're ok," he soothes when Dream loses the fight and tears start pouring down his face, dripping down onto Aleister's shirt. "It's going to be ok." He gives him a few minutes before easing him upright, wiping some of the wet trails off of his cheeks. "Back seat?"

"Please," Dream mumbles, seeming relieved to be helped to his feet. He shuffles over to the car and, between the two of them, ends up sprawled out in the back, Aleister pressing a pillow under his head and spreading a blanket out over his prone form before taking the driver's seat.

The drive to the hotel is quiet, Aleister tapping his thumb against the steering wheel until they arrive. He gets out of the car and eases Dream out, helping him walk in through the side door, away from prying eyes and gossiping hotel concierges. They make it to the second floor, where Dream's room is, before he grips Aleister's shirt and stops him. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, smoothing the wrinkles out in the fabric before looking up at him. "I'm sorry I failed in making sure we get our rematch."

Aleister shakes his head. "You've nothing to apologize for. If it's meant to be, it will happen eventually." He brushes his fingers against Dream's hair. "Where's your keycard?"

"I'm not sure," he confesses wearily and Aleister makes a face before looking back and forth, pressing a finger to the slot. Dream blinks as the light flashes green and beeps, allowing them entrance to the room. "Ok, you need to teach me that trick," he says, relieved when Aleister pushes the door open and helps him to the bed.

"I think it's best if I don't," Aleister says, sounding humored as he looks down at Dream. "Let me see your elbow."

Dream makes a face, trying to keep it pressed against his chest, out of Aleister's reach. "Trainer says it's fine, nothing a little ice and heat over the next few days won't fix." Even so, Aleister continues to motion for it, waiting patiently, and Dream finally sighs, stretching his arm out so it can be manipulated, examined properly.

A little bruised, somewhat swollen, but Aleister thinks the trainer is correct. "Keep it elevated," he says softly, Dream rolling his eyes as he's pushed to lay back, Aleister easing a couple of pillows under the injury. "Get some rest," he urges, brushing his fingers against Dream's forehead once more.

Dream huffs, grips his hand and draws it down to rest against his chest, their fingers tangling together. He's clearly not eager to sleep but needs some sort of physical connection with someone right now.

Aleister wonders how much of him is regretting that it's not the NXT title that he's holding onto like this right now. He remembers last year, the aftermath of their match. Despite Aleister saying his name, it hadn't been enough- Dream had disappeared for the better part of a month, and Full Sail had been boring, unimpressive, until Aleister started sensing traces of his aura around the building once more. Easing down to lay next to Dream, wrapping an arm possessively around him, he lightly kisses his throat, listening to the subtle change in his breathing. "I know when things get rough, you leave," he tells him. "I never know where you go, or why- to regroup, to recover physically or emotionally... but I am asking you this time." He lightly cups Dream's face and searches his tired, grim eyes. "Do not leave. Stay."

Dream closes his eyes, exhaling roughly. "What is there for me to stay for? Ciampa's ridicule? The crowd's pity? Please."

Aleister continues to mouth around his pulse point, feeling Dream's fingers tensing around his forearm, the pressure incredible, overwhelming. "You forgot something," he says softly, leaning up to look at Dream, observing how confused and exhausted he looks even now. "Me. I want you to stay for me."

Dream shakes his head. "I don't know what you mean by that. What could I possibly do for you, with your ability to open all locked doors, defeat monsters like Gargano to Lars and everything in between? I am useless."

"That is a lie," Aleister says, deciding now is not the time for subtly. "You make Full Sail feel alive. There is a warmth, a definition, about those old, dank hallways that hint that you've been there recently. But you go, and its shabbiness becomes impossible to ignore."

"I'm supposed to stay because I make an old building feel alive," he echoes. "Great." Laughs brokenly and shakes his head, about to pull away from Aleister, just to be tugged closer, whispers pressed into his skin again. "Repeat that again," he says, breathless and not quite able to process what he'd just heard.

Aleister eases up, kisses his mouth, along his jaw, before pressing his lips to the side of Dream's mouth. "You make _me_ feel alive. That is why I want you to stay." He stares at Dream. "Please."

"Well, when you put it like _that..._ " Dream groans, relaxing in Aleister's arms and kissing him back. "I can't make you any promises," he mumbles. "But I will try. I will."

"That is all I can ask of you," he says, forcing himself not to push any further, not wanting to run Dream off entirely. Wrapping his arms around him snugly, he strokes Dream's arms and back. "Close your eyes and get some rest. Things will look better in the morning."

Dream makes a strange scoffing/huffing noise, but does as Aleister urges, falling asleep in his arms as Aleister hovers over him, counting his breaths and waiting for a similar sort of bone-weary exhaustion to claim him as well.


End file.
